My hands bleed here
a hum of darker red
cold is the body of
remembrance.
You – lovely, with no shape
hair of thorns
a ruby in the throat –
crawl and dig inside
long after the dust
has turned the walls
a heavy shade of black.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
My hands bleed here
a hum of darker red
cold is the body of
remembrance.
You – lovely, with no shape
hair of thorns
a ruby in the throat –
crawl and dig inside
long after the dust
has turned the walls
a heavy shade of black.
